


Ten Years

by DegrassiFanatic



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DegrassiFanatic/pseuds/DegrassiFanatic
Summary: She’s still dressed for work; a pencil skirt, a blouse, a blazer, and a pair of heels. Her dark hair drenched from the heavy rains earlier. Mascara runs down her face. Blood drizzles out from a deep gash on the side of her leg. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes are hazy, in a way that makes Merlin feel like he’s twenty-two again trying desperately to get Morgana sober.God, Morgana was only three months short of eight years being clean.
Relationships: Gwen & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin)
Kudos: 10





	Ten Years

**Author's Note:**

> warning there are references to a vehicular accident in which someone died, overdose, and general themes of substance abuse

Ten years ago, Arthur had thrown his very first (and last) party in university. Although, party is a generous term, seeing as two of his guests were his roommates (Leon and Percival), one was his sister (Morgana), the other was his boyfriend (Merlin), his ex-girlfriend (Gwen), his ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend (Lance), and his ex-girlfriend’s brother (Elyan). 

So, yes, party is a generous term. Arthur had simply wanted to gather up his close friends and drink until the early hours of the morning, which they did. Drinks were poured and drained under a minute. The bathroom was constantly in use for either peeing or puking. Merlin was sure that he ended up in a different set of clothes than he had arrived in. Eventually, the drinking binge came to an end when their supply did and soon enough the fatigue had settled in. 

The lot of them had come to the unanimous decision that going back to their own apartments wasn’t worth the effort and took it upon themselves to stay the night. Merlin had crawled into his boyfriend’s bed. The tub seemed appealing to sleep in to Gwaine, even after all the bouts of piss and puke that had gone on in the bathroom. Gwen took the couch, while Elyan shoved Leon out of his own bed, forcing the man to room with Percival for the night. 

Morgana didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for a place to sleep seeing as she was the only one sober. Plus, she had told them she had a shift in the morning and decided to save herself the trouble of taking customers’ orders with a hangover. Unlike Lance, who also had to go to work in the morning, but had decided that an alcohol binge was worth it. 

Unfortunately for Lance, there wasn’t an available, comfortable spot for him to sleep, not in Arthur’s cramped apartment. The only option left for him was laying on the kitchen floor for the rest of the night. Taking pity on him, Morgana had simply ushered the man out the door, the two of them shouting their goodbyes.

If Merlin had known that was the last time he would’ve seen Lance, he would’ve made his goodbye count.

The details after that are scant but he knows the gist of it; Morgana had been driving Lance home when a drunk driver had slammed into the passenger seat. Morgana had suffered a broken leg, a concussion, and several fractures in her right arm. 

Lance was dead before the paramedics arrived on the scene. 

The group had taken it hard but Morgana was the one who had it the worst. She had shown up to Lance’s funeral in a drugged out haze, and she spent the next two years in a similar state. Her life had fallen apart. Her grades suffered; she went from an honours student to barely passing. Gwen had to move out of the apartment they shared because she couldn’t handle her addiction. Morgana had lost her job but that didn’t seem to matter to her since she had Uther’s guilt money. Her arms were full of track marks, she had perpetual nose bleeds, and her teeth had begun to rot. 

The last straw was when Morgana had overdosed in her apartment. If it weren’t for Arthur barging into her apartment, they could’ve lost another friend. 

It was a mess. A spectacular one that Morgana didn’t seem to keen on cleaning up. In fact, she hadn’t shown any care after waking up in a hospital room, only asking the nurses when she could go back home. 

It may have only taken several screaming matches to finally get it through Morgana’s head that they needed her alive and healthy but, it had taken a lot of time, patience, crying, yelling, and rehab to get Morgana sober and to have her stay that way. 

It was all worth it though because they all silently came to the agreement that they weren’t going to lose another friend, not if they could help it. 

Now, years later, Morgana was clean, and though the group still remembered Lance, the sharp pain of hearing his name had been dulled to an ache; still there but, less persistent.

Tonight, Arthur had gone out with Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival to the bar to pour one out in Lance’s honour. It had become their little tradition. It made the rather morose day a little more lighthearted, a little more easier to digest that it had already been another year since their friend died. Both Gwen and Merlin didn’t like to partake in it, the two of them felt like it was an activity reserved for the others. Instead, Gwen would go and visit Lance’s mother, while Merlin would prefer to stay home and flip through old photos of him. 

No one ever knew what Morgana did. She kept her grieving quiet and close to her chest, and none of them bothered to pry either because whatever she did was certainly better than drugs. 

The once pouring rain comes to a lot pattering against the gravel and pavement outside the house. He’s sitting at the dinner table. There are scattered photographs of Lance everywhere; some of when he was only ten, others are of his days in high school and university, and a couple are from the night he died. His fingers trace over Lance’s smiles in each photograph. All of the grins are identical to each and Merlin wonders if Lance would’ve kept the same smile if he got to turn thirty like the rest of them. 

A knock at the door steals Merlin’s attention away. Getting out of his chair, he strides over to the front double doors. As he walks, he hears the knocking get sharper and quicker, the rapping turning into a frenzy. Through the translucent glass panels on the sides of the door, he can see a frantic looking figure. 

His mouth is already forming a playful jibe when he opens the door expecting a drunk Gwaine, only to be stopped as he takes in the sight of Morgana standing at his front door. 

She’s still dressed for work; a pencil skirt, a blouse, a blazer, and a pair of heels. Her dark hair drenched from the heavy rains earlier. Mascara runs down her face. Blood drizzles out from a deep gash on the side of her leg. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes are hazy, in a way that makes Merlin feel like he’s twenty-two again trying desperately to get Morgana sober. 

God, Morgana was only three months short of eight years being clean.

“I killed Lance.” she blurts out, her hands shaking by her sides.

Merlin feels like he’s been hit in his solar plexus. The wind is knocked out of him and he struggles to take in a breath. His whole chest aching at her words. 

Even after ten years, Morgana still blamed herself for Lance’s death. 

He brings out his hand to grant Morgana a comforting touch but she can only flinch. As she takes half a step back, Merlin’s arm falls to his side. 

Not knowing what to say, Merlin simply attempts to usher her inside the house only to have Morgana plant her feet and square her shoulders, not letting herself be budged. 

“I killed Lance.” she declares again, “I was driving and I should’ve seen the driver and I should’ve done something and I—”

Her words are cut off by the gritting of her teeth as if she’s trying not to cry. It’s useless though because not a second later her eyes give out, tears streaming down her face. 

This time when Merlin moves to her inside, she goes easily. An arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders. 

“You didn’t kill Lance.” Merlin whispers.

Once Morgana is in the house, he closes the front door, locking it right after. Merlin squats down by Morgana’s feet as he unbuckles the tiny straps on her heels. He feels her settle a hand on his shoulder as Merlin pulls the shoes off her feet. 

After he’s done, he stands up and guides Morgana towards the guest bedroom. He settles her at the edge of bed in the middle of the room before excusing himself to grab a first aid kit from the ensuite bathroom. He makes his trip quick, afraid to leave Morgana alone for even a short amount of time. 

Returning to the bedroom, he kneels in front of Morgana. With gentle hands, he grabs her injured leg steady as he cleans the wound easily. Within a moment or two, the ugly wound is covered by a white, sterile bandage. Closing the kit, he shoves it behind himself before sitting back on his haunches. He lowers his head to make eye contact with Morgana, who has her chin resting on her chest. 

“Morgana,” he says quietly, “Did you do anything tonight?”

Immediately, her whole body seizes up. Her breathing stops for a second as panic surges through her system.

If Merlin didn’t already know his answer, he did now.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I didn’t mean to.” she rambles on, “Please, Merlin, I didn’t mean to—”

She looks so frightened. Her eyes wide as she clasps her hand in front of her chest; begging for Merlin to listen to her. 

“I’m not mad.” he reassures as he encircles her wrists with his hands, “Morgana, I’m worried about you.”

The words break something inside of her. Her mouth contorts as she lets out a loud sob. Her eyes squeezing shut as she claws to get out of Merlin’s grasp. Right away, Merlin lets go of her, unwillingly. 

All the tension in her body is released as she leans her elbows onto her knees.

“I wish I died that night.” she cries out, into her hands, “I know you all do.”

His hands seem to be working on their own accord because soon he’s tugging Morgana into a hug. Rubbing her back as he tries to hush her sobs with soft murmurs. 

“No one wants to see you dead.” he whispers into her still wet hair.

It takes some time for her to calm down but eventually, her cries taper off into whimpers and her breathing isn’t as harsh. Merlin still doesn’t let go, though. He won’t, not until Morgana asks him to.

“I’m sorry.” she mumbles into his neck, “I’m sorry that I messed up, that I keep messing up. I’m sorry that I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Morgana,” his hands clamber to the back of her head, cradling him closer, “You’re not too much trouble. And even if you were, I would rather have you alive and pick up behind you, then see you lowered into a grave.”

_ Not like Lance. _

The skin of his throat grows wet with Morgana’s tears.

A silence overtakes the two of them. Not like the ones he shares with the others, the ones filled with comfort and the reassurance that they don’t always need more. 

This silence is filled with tension, the two of them waiting for the other to say something. 

Morgana is the one to break first.

“Please don’t tell Gwen.” she asks brokenly.

Sighing, Merlin brings her up to look her in the eyes. 

“I have to, Morgana.” he says, “She needs to know.”

“Please Merlin. She’ll be so disappointed in me.” she whispers, her voice cracking at the end of her words.

As her breath picks up again, his hands come down to rub soothingly at Morgana’s sides. 

In a minute, Morgana’s breathing evens out again and she can take in air, without gasping. He watches her reluctantly pull away from Merlin’s embrace, though not straying too far. 

Her muscles must be aching, Merlin realizes as she lets out a little groan when she stretches. She must’ve walked all the way here from wherever she was because he didn’t see her car in the driveway and Morgana was not one for impaired driving. Not after Lance. 

Her high still seems to be there but she's cognizant, which means it’ll only take two or so hours for her to reach the border of sobriety and intoxication, if Merlin remembers correctly after all those years. 

“I’ll call her after I take a nap.” she concedes, knowing nothing short of this will convince Merlin.

“I promise.” she adds, after Merlin shoots him a wary look.

He stares at Morgana for a second. Sometimes, he remembers her as two different people. Clean Morgana and Addict Morgana. 

Clean Morgana had her life together. She could go to work and she could have fun and she could look at Gwen without wanting to break down. She could close her eyes and drift off into sleep without worrying about whatever was going to plague his dreams. 

Addict Morgana’s whole life was falling apart at the seams. She was in a constant drugged out haze, and when she wasn’t, she was busy retching up the contents of her stomach, all while she thought about how to get her next fix.

Addict Morgana couldn’t even sober up enough to hold Morgause’s baby.

Right now, as he looks at her, he’s not sure which Morgana he is looking at. Though it doesn’t matter much because he loves Addict Morgana as much as he does Clean Morgana.

Ten years ago, Merlin was the one who had to sit his friends down in Arthur’s tiny living room and tell them that the man they were laughing with just a few hours ago was dead. 

Ten years ago, Merlin was the one who had to sit all of his friends down again in his own cramped apartment and tell them that the woman who used to wrinkle her nose at white wine was shooting up in her bathroom every other day. 

After that, after having the look of anguish on his friends’ faces seared into his memory, Merlin was determined to not be the bearer of bad news. Not again. 

So, hesitantly, he nods. 

A look of relief washes over Morgana’s face before being replaced by one of exhaustion. Soon, she lays back against the bed. She doesn’t bother with the covers. Sweat collects around her forehead and along her neck. 

Fearing overheating, Merlin cracks open the window all the way before he cranks on the ceiling fan. At the cool breeze, Morgana shuts her eyes and lets out a pleasant hum. Still not sure, Merlin decides to take one last measure and fill up a glass of water for her and get a small snack.

When he comes back with water and food, he suspects that Morgana didn’t even notice his absence but he doesn’t bother commenting on it like he would any other day. Instead, he simply sets the glass and the granola bar down on the nightstand.

“If you need anything, I’m in the living room.” he says before turning off the lights. 

The sounds of the fan and the low buzz of the neighbourhood lull her to sleep. Merlin hopes it’s enough to dispel thoughts of disappointing and dying

* * *

Morgana shoots up from the bed, chest heaving, sweating profusely. By the sight of the sky outside the window, it couldn’t have been more than an hour since she fell asleep. 

It feels like someone poured ice into her veins and now she’s freezing. Or it feels like she’s been dunked into a vat of hot magma. Everything feels like a juxtaposition of itself and nothing makes sense. 

All she can remember is that she had killed Lance. She remembers looking out the windshield and then turning to look at Lance, only to find him dead.

She killed Lance. 

Her hands scramble to pull out her phone from her blazer, fingers dialing away a familiar number.

Her mind is all over the place. She can’t tell the sheets of the bed apart from the metal of the car wreckage. She can’t figure out if her blouse is wet from Lance’s blood or from her sweat. The days begin to blur together.

The grip on the phone tightens as Morgana swings her legs over the side of the bed. She bounces her knee as she waits for Gwen to pick up. 

The rings seem to have an infinite stretch between each other before the line finally connects.

_ “Hey Morgana, I was just about to call you.” _

“I killed Lance.” she whispers into the phone. 

She hears Gwen shuffle around through the phone. She can even hear Lance’s mother’s laughter through the phone.

God, Morgana should have been paying more fucking attention to the road. She should’ve been able to tell that the driver in the next lane was drunk. Lance and her even joked about it because of the way he was swerving. 

She killed him. She killed her friend. She killed Gwen’s boyfriend. She killed Merlin’s first crush. She killed Elyan’s future brother-in-law. She killed a son, a grandson.

Something in her voice must trigger Gwen’s demeanor to change, going from happy to concerned in milliseconds and light years at the same time. 

_ “Morgana, where are you? Are you at home?” _

“I’m at Merlin and Arthur’s.”

The call ends after that. 

* * *

A few minutes or a few hours later, Morgana can’t really tell, she hears Gwen’s car pull up in the driveway. She hears her enter the house. She hears her talk to Merlin in hushed tones, as their footsteps get closer and closer to the bedroom. 

She’s still sat in the same position she was in when Gwen had first picked up the phone. Body refusing to cooperate with her mind. 

When the footsteps are right outside the room, the door opens. Hallway light leaks in behind Gwen, who enters promptly and shuts the door as gently as she can. 

She races towards her, kneeling in front of Morgana. She gathers her up in her arms, hugging her taut against her body. Morgana relishes in the moment, being held by someone she cares about. Unbothered by the way her clinginess must look. 

Too soon, Gwen pulls away, leaving only an inch of space between them. She holds Morgana’s face in her hands, thumbing at her cheekbone. 

“Morgana,” she breathes out, “Are you alright?”

“I’m on drugs.” Morgana blurts out.

Better to rip off the bandage. 

Gwen doesn’t answer her, going silent as she stares at her. She doesn’t rip away either, like she did all those years ago when she first discovered her drug use. 

“I’m sorry.” she mumbles, clutching at Gwen’s wrists, “Please don’t be disappointed in me. I’m really sorry.”

“Morgana, I’m not disappointed. I’m worried about you.”

She doesn’t want to make Gwen worry. She already does too much of it. Always worrying if Elyan is going to his doctor’s appointments, if Gwaine is cutting down on the drinking, if Merlin is getting enough sleep.

She’s always worrying about others. Morgana doesn’t want to be added to that list. 

“I tried to figure it out by myself.” she heaves out, “I tried so hard, Gwen, to be strong enough.”

Morgana has seen what pain looks like on Gwen’s face. Far too much for her liking. She’s gotten used to, in an almost horrific manner.

Yet nothing could’ve prepared her for the look of utter despair, her face twisting up as she struggles to form the words. 

“Morgana...”

She wishes she could just get better already, so Gwen can get back to more pressing issues in her life. It’s been ten years. Why can’t her stupid brain just shut up?

Maybe she can pretend that she’s okay. Gwen can mention Lance without feeling like she’s going to set Morgana on a bender, and she won’t have to worry about her anymore. 

“I’ll be fine.” she lies, rather unconvincingly. 

“You’re not fine.”

Gwen pulls away from her body, and she can only pathetically whimper as her touch is gone. Even though Gwen ran warm, it was like Morgana’s body had been momentarily cooled by her. 

She stands up from the ground, her arms crossed at her chest, as she watches Morgana.

“I am fine, Gwen. I’ll be okay enough.”

“No, you’re not, Morgana.” she says as she looks at her dismayed, “Okay, you haven’t been for a long time.”

Shakily, Morgana stands as well, her heart ready to plummet out of her stomach. 

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“Listen, you are— you were clean for a long time.” and the way Gwen corrects herself makes Morgana want to vomit, “But, you never sought out mental health. You never went to therapy.”

“None of you guys did either.”

“None of us were stuck in the driver’s seat, forced to look at their dead friend until help came, either.” she reminds.

Morgana flinches at the memory and Gwen must have seen because she presses a hand to her shoulder to help her relax. 

“I don’t need to go to therapy.” 

“Morgana,” Gwen mumbles as she wades closer to her, “Please? I cannot keep watching you do this to yourself over and over again. Therapy will help. You need to talk to someone.”

“I talk to you.” she responds earnestly.

“No, you don’t.” Gwen denies as she trails her finger against the inside of Morgana’s soaked blazer, “Not about the important stuff.”

Gwen is right. She can’t even lie to herself about it. She never talks about it. Not to her. Not anyone. She’s always worried that if she does one day, she’ll somehow remind everyone how Lance’s death was on her hands. 

She hates herself for thinking it. It’s an irrational thought because none of her friends have ever made her feel like it but, deep down, she knows that at least one of them has to blame her. That at least one of her friends hates her for killing Lance. 

The thoughts swirling around her head have her veins crying out in need, just as they did a couple of hours ago. It seems the needle she plunged didn’t seem to be enough to stop the onslaught of pain that she’s been carrying around in her chest. 

Morgana doesn’t cry again but it’s a near thing. She’s probably too dehydrated considering she’s sweat out all of her fluids and the glass of water that sits on the nightstand is still filled to the brim. 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Morgana croaks out, ducking her head down in shame.

“Sure.” Gwen murmurs sadly, knowing that Morgana is lying, “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god, not another fic, no but yeah i think they really are just coming shittier and shittier, but quality is for losers so...
> 
> if you liked leave a kudo or a comment, and come visit me on tumblr (im lonely) at degrassi-fanatic


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